The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society Part 7

"Yes."

"Oyster stuffing," Wally writes. "Is that the one with the Worcesters.h.i.+re sauce? I think you made it last Fourth of July."

Gerald nods. "The fried bacon really gives it a pop."

"That it does. So, if I look back at what we have and what we've just added, it looks like we have one hundred twenty-seven recipes, two over our goal. We have ourselves a cookbook, gentlemen!"

There's a hearty round of applause as the men congratulate themselves. A couple bring out handkerchiefs and pretend to sneeze.

Wally closes the fat binder, stuffed with recipes they've shared over the years. He's feeling a bit emotional himself, not quite believing that they've done it. They've gone and written themselves a cookbook, and a book printer in Rockford is going to publish it and help them distribute it.

Bettie Shelton had suggested the cookbook five years ago, but the men weren't sure if they wanted any kind of publicity. When she pointed out that it would be more than a special memento, but something that could help other people in the same situation, they started thinking about it.

The group had come together as a fluke, a few men staying after the weekly grief support group to exchange recipes or talk about what a struggle it was to cook for one. They'd all lost a spouse or someone close to them who took care of the things they had taken for granted before, like cooking. Everyone burned pans that first year, set off fire alarms, ended up staring into a pot full of canned soup and feeling so lonely they felt invisible.

So Wally suggested that they swap recipes and help each other out. Nothing too intimidating to start, but an identical recipe and shopping list they could all share each week, so they could compare notes the following week. It took a while, but they got better, more adventurous. Wally can always tell someone is on the road to recovery when they start pulling out their late spouse's cookbook or their grandmother's yellowed recipe cards. Almost every one of those meals will bring tears.

For Boyd Robby, it was his wife's sausage cakes, fried in lard. For Otto Warren, it was pressed veal. David Combs kept them stocked with shrimp gumbo for weeks-he wouldn't give up until he got it right.

For Wally, it was the Spanish pork chops that Virginia used to make. Lay the chops in a baking dish with a slice of onion, a slice of pepper, a heaping tablespoon of uncooked rice, topped with canned tomatoes and season generously. Into a four-hundred-degree oven for forty-five minutes and you have a meal to remember. He can picture Virginia smiling at him from across the table whenever he eats it. He wishes he could turn back time and make those chops for her. He knows she'd be proud at how far he's come.

So that's really what their cookbook is all about. Not just food, but memories. Each person is writing a small story about the recipe, about something funny that happened, about the first time they made it, about what it means. It's about sorrow and joy, about the mishaps in the kitchen as well as the successes. But most of all it's about the women who left a few hapless men behind, men who've learned to pick up a spatula, tie on an ap.r.o.n, and cook for themselves.

Chapter 7.

Connie yawns and turns over, still sleepy. The morning sun casts patterns on Connie's bed, the sunlight filtering through lace curtains.

She opens one eye and looks at the clock. Eight o'clock. Eight o'clock! Connie sits up in disbelief, then quickly gets out of bed and throws on some clothes. All she can remember is stumbling back up the stairs after Bettie Shelton almost scared the living daylights out of them. She must have turned off her alarm when she came back to bed.

Connie brushes her teeth and adds some hair gel into the palms of her hands before raking it through her hair with her fingertips. She runs out of the room and down the stairs, slowing only when she nears the already bustling tearoom.

A few of the regulars smile and say good morning. Connie returns the greeting as she hurries into the kitchen where Madeline is frying up some eggs in a skillet. "Madeline, I'm so sorry. My alarm didn't go off and I must have overslept . . ."

Her voice trails off when she sees Hannah w.a.n.g emerge from the pantry, her arms encircling a basket of potatoes, an ap.r.o.n tied around her waist. She smiles pleasantly when she sees Connie, lifting her chin in greeting. "Good morning, Connie."

"Oh. Hey, Hannah." Connie watches her place the potatoes by the basin and begin to rinse them. Even though they sometimes ask Hannah to come in and help when they're busy, it's usually Connie and Madeline in the kitchen. She hadn't expected to see Hannah here.

"Hannah called early this morning to see if we needed any help," Madeline explains as she slides the eggs onto a couple of plates. "As usual, her timing is perfect. I thought you could do with a little rest, Connie, after our exciting adventure last night. You've been working so hard lately." But instead of looking at Connie, Madeline is beaming at Hannah.

"I like being busy," Connie quickly says. "I don't need a break."

"You haven't taken a day since you started," Madeline reminds her.

"I like working," Connie says. She turns to Hannah. "And I don't want to put you out."

"It's no trouble at all," Hannah says easily. She begins to peel the potatoes. "I love being here, it's like my second home."

Madeline adds several strips of bacon to the plates, then goes to Hannah and gives her shoulders an affectionate squeeze. "You are welcome here anytime. I love having you here, too."

Connie frowns as she watches this exchange. She knows that Hannah's schedule is open and flexible, that she teaches music to kids and adults but also has some money from her years of playing and performing professionally. Hannah doesn't need a job, but Connie does.

Madeline adds a sprig of parsley to each plate. "Now, let's get these breakfast orders out for the Johnsons at table nine. I'll get the pancakes going for table six."

"I'll take those out, Madeline," Hannah says, and Hannah and Madeline exchange another smile, making Connie feel like a third wheel. Hannah and Madeline have a relations.h.i.+p that predates Connie and it always seems like they have an unspoken understanding of each other. Connie watches as Hannah wipes her hands, then picks up the plates and heads out to the tearoom.

Once Hannah is out of earshot, Connie turns to Madeline. "Hannah doesn't have to stay if she has somewhere else to go," she says. She pretends to scan the day's menu even though she knows it by heart. "I mean, I'm here now." She ties her ap.r.o.n around her waist.

Madeline glances outside where Hannah's polite laughter can be heard over the din of forks sc.r.a.ping against the china dishes and random conversations. "Oh, I think she's happy to be here. The regulars seem happy to see her, too."

That's exactly what Connie is worried about. Connie frowns as there's a bleat from the backyard. "But we don't . . ." she begins.

Madeline reaches for a large mixing bowl filled with pancake batter and gives it a quick stir before ladling out a portion onto the griddle. "I think your goat is calling you," she says.

"Serena can wait," Connie says impatiently. "We have customers. I can take over the pancakes, Madeline. Did you say table six?"

Madeline shoos her away. "Goodness, I'm already here, Connie. Go take care of your goat or we'll be hearing her complain all morning."

For the first time since Serena's arrival, Connie feels annoyed by her bleating demands. She picks an apple from the fruit bowl and steps out the back door into the yard. It's early but it's already starting to get hot, another clear, cloudless day. She makes her way through the path in the garden until she comes upon Serena resting atop her igloo, her legs folded beneath her.

"What do you need? Water?" Connie unlatches the gate and steps inside. Serena's water bowl is indeed empty, but Connie can tell by the damp earth around it that Serena has tipped the water out herself. There's plenty of gra.s.s and she knows Serena isn't hungry, but she tosses her the apple anyway. Serena doesn't move, just watches the apple bounce off the igloo and roll onto the ground.

"What's with you?" Connie asks as she picks up the water bowl. She heads out to the toolshed to get the water hose. She glances back and sees Serena still sitting on the igloo, a bored look on her face.

Connie quickly rinses the water bowl and fills it with fresh water, glancing anxiously back at the house. Why does Hannah have to stay? Connie and Madeline have developed a rhythm that she can tell is already off because a third person is in the kitchen with them. It's nothing personal against Hannah, and Connie appreciates the other times that she's stepped in to help, but this is their regular morning crowd. Her crowd. The success of the tea salon is due in large part to their ability to turn over tables when it gets full. It's a delicate balance between keeping existing customers happy while making room for new ones. If Hannah's going to linger by the tables and chat all day, it's going to affect their bottom line.

Connie hurries back into the pen and puts the water bowl on the ground. Maybe if she puts Hannah to work at baking some fresh loaves of Amish Friends.h.i.+p Bread, it'll keep her in the kitchen and out of the- Connie stands up and stares at the empty pen in front of her.

Serena is gone.

Connie quickly scans the s.p.a.cious backyard, looking in all the usual places Serena tends to go to. Nothing. It's possible that she's trotted into the house, which she's done on numerous occasions, but Connie did remember to close the back door and Madeline is handy with the broom. She could also be in the front of the house, greeting customers or scaring them away, depending on her mood. Or, and this last and most likely option fills Connie with dread, Serena has headed over to the La.s.siters'.

Connie is muttering under her breath as she hurries over to their neighbors, hoping Serena will be in their yard. It's become a bit of a routine now, though Connie is tiring of it and she suspects the La.s.siters are, too. But when Connie looks over the fence, Serena's not there.

Connie walks to the front of the tea salon, scans the street up and down. With a sinking feeling, she realizes that Serena could be anywhere. Nosing through garbage, checking out gardens, looking for new friends. Traipsing around Avalon without a thought for Connie, about how her morning-and Madeline's-will be wrecked if Connie has to go out looking for Serena. Again.

"Connie?" Madeline appears at the front door, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n. "The phone is ringing madly. It seems like everyone has decided to have a meeting this morning and wants some baked goods to go with it."

"Serena's missing," Connie says, and feels the heat of tears. She scans the street one more time.

"Yes, well . . ." Madeline doesn't seem surprised. "Goats are like that. This one, at least. Come on in, there's no sense in fretting. She'll turn up."

"But what if she doesn't?"

Madeline looks grim at the prospect. "Well, then, she doesn't. But if that happens, we'll figure out what to do, all right?"

Connie wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, then reluctantly turns back toward the house. Serena doesn't understand cars or traffic, doesn't take well to instruction of any kind. Connie can picture her in trouble, and who would bother to help? She's just a goat.

They walk into the house. Despite her agitation, Connie is comforted by the smell of b.u.t.termilk pancakes topped with fresh berries and warm syrup. When she sees that Madeline's made up a plate for her, she smiles gratefully.

"Don't forget to eat," Madeline reminds her sternly. "Finish up these pancake orders and then get yourself a bite."

Hannah is standing in front of the wooden cutting board. "Connie, I've peeled the potatoes. How do you want me to cut them?"

Connie quickly pours the pancake batter into perfect disks on the griddle. "Use the mandolin to slice them-we'll be doing scalloped potatoes for lunch. I filled some m.u.f.fin tins last night with a raspberry and blackberry mix and those need to go in the oven. They're in the fridge and there's a streusel topping there as well. Madeline, I was thinking we could take a few bags of Amish Friends.h.i.+p Bread starter from the freezer out back and make those olive oil loaves everyone seems to like."

Madeline nods and says, "I'll go grab some." They usually keep a starter going in a gla.s.s container on the counter, but it quickly gets away from them. Madeline and Connie have found that it's easier if they slow the fermentation process every now and then by refrigerating their starter and freeze any excess when it's time to divide the batter. It leaves them with plenty of starter for recipes whenever they need them, without the daily ha.s.sle of having to care and feed it.

Connie serves up the pancakes, then quickly eats her own breakfast. She fills a few to-go orders and starts on another round of pancakes.

"I've forgotten how busy it can get!" Hannah remarks with happy exhaustion as she moves the now-baked m.u.f.fins onto a cooling rack. She deftly slides several loaf tins filled with a rosemary lemon olive oil Amish Friends.h.i.+p Bread batter into the oven and closes the door with a flourish.

Madeline gives Connie a wink. This is their life five days a week, sometimes more if they have a special event, no break for the holidays. Two meals a day with dinner orders to go, just the two of them.

The breakfast crowd is starting to thin and it's time to get ready for the lunch rush. Connie clears a few tables, takes an order, then sees Bettie Shelton coming up the walk. She's pulling an oversized portable luggage stroller stacked with her telltale sc.r.a.pbooking plastic bins. She's looking spry and well rested, and Connie wonders if last night was a dream.

"Pot of Darjeeling," Bettie says loudly when she walks through the door. She surveys the room critically, looking for the best spot. She settles at a table near the window and begins to unlatch her boxes.

Connie pulls a tin down from the shelf then spoons a few teaspoons of loose Darjeeling tea leaves into a teapot. As she adds the hot water she watches Bettie make a show about her new stencil samples, engaging the tables around her.

Connie brings a teapot, strainer, and teacup to Bettie's table. "So . . . that was some night last night, huh?"

Bettie frowns. "What?"

"You know," Connie prompts. "Last night? It was really late? You were out . . ."

Bettie stares at her blankly. "Out? I don't know what you're talking about."

Connie isn't sure if Bettie was sleepwalking or just embarra.s.sed at being caught. But Bettie is looking at her, waiting for an answer, making Connie s.h.i.+ft uncomfortably. "Never mind. Big moon, that's all."

"I must've missed it. I'm early to bed except on sc.r.a.pbooking nights." Bettie scans the blackboard where Connie's written the daily specials. "I think I'll take the pancakes," she declares. She gives a satisfactory nod, pleased with her choice.

Connie raises her eyebrows in surprise. Bettie is notoriously cheap and she's never ordered food before. "They're $5.99, Bettie. Plus tax."

"I can read, Connie Colls. One order of pancakes, and get me a pot of Darjeeling tea." Bettie picks up a packet of stencils and frowns. "These don't look like lilacs, do they?"

Connie points to the teapot on the table. "Bettie, your Darjeeling tea is right there."

Bettie's brows furrow as she takes in the pot of tea in front of her. "Oh. Of course." She gives a sniff of indignation but her cheeks flush as she squints at a stencil sample in front of her.

Connie retreats to the kitchen, wary, and puts in the order for Bettie's pancakes.

"Look what I got!" Hannah says a few minutes later when she reenters the kitchen with some dirty dishes. Tucked under her arm is one of Bettie's sc.r.a.pbook starter packets. "She gave it to me for free, isn't that nice?"

"Nothing's ever free with Bettie," Connie informs her, but Hannah doesn't seem to be listening. Connie glances outside and sees Bettie handing out business cards liberally as she floats from table to table. Connie frowns. "Madeline, I really think . . ."

But Madeline's moved next to Hannah and the two of them are giggling as they watch Bettie zero in on a potential customer. "Hmmm? What was that, Connie?"

Connie lets a pan drop into the sink with a clatter. "Nothing." Maybe she just needs to take her break and check on Serena. But as she begins to untie her ap.r.o.n, she remembers that Serena isn't there.

Connie picks up the phone to call the La.s.siters. To her dismay, Walter La.s.siter answers.

"h.e.l.lo?" he barks into the phone.

"Mr. La.s.siter, it's Connie Colls. Serena got out of her pen this morning, and I'm hoping that you'll give me a call if you see her-"

"Good riddance!" he snaps. "I found hoofprints in my garden this morning and my hydrangeas look like someone took a weed whacker to them!"

"Really?" Connie hears the hopefulness in her voice. "I mean, I'm sorry!" She looks out the window toward the La.s.siters' backyard. If Serena found a way to get over there, then there's a chance she's still lurking about.

"If I see that goat again, I'm getting out the hose. Or worse!"

Connie hastily hangs up and makes a note to bring a ca.s.serole over to the La.s.siters' first chance she gets.

There's a racket in the dining room. "Where's my tea?" demands Bettie.

"I'll get it," Hannah volunteers.

"But I already got it for her," Connie says. She turns to Madeline and gestures to the teapot sitting in the middle of Bettie's table.

Madeline frowns. "Maybe she's out of hot water. Hannah, why don't you go check . . ."

"No, I can do it," Connie says quickly, and cuts Hannah off as she heads into the dining room.

Bettie is scowling as Connie approaches her table. "Hey Bettie," Connie says casually. She lifts the teapot and sees it's still filled with hot water. She makes a point of pouring the tea into the teacup in front of Bettie. "There you go. All set?"

Bettie stares at the teacup as if it's sprouted wings. Then she turns to Connie, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng angrily. "I'm on to you, Connie Colls!"

"What?" Connie says, bewildered. Suddenly they have the attention of the tea room. Bettie is red in the face as she looks at Connie. In fact, everybody is looking at Connie. How did that happen?

"You can't fool me! Now please get me some Darjeeling tea!"

Connie grits her teeth. She storms back into the kitchen, past the inquisitive looks, and is about to slam the teapot onto the counter.

"Let me take care of that," Madeline says, rescuing the teapot before it becomes a heap of useless shards.

Connie takes a dish towel and b.a.l.l.s it up in frustration. "What's wrong with her? This tea was perfectly fine!"

Madeline sets about putting fresh leaves into a new teapot and adds hot water. "Maybe she's preoccupied," she says, but Connie can tell that she's not convinced.

There's a bit of commotion as a woman races into the salon. "There's a stray goat outside! It almost got me!" She fans herself as someone pulls out a chair for her.